


The Winter of Wolf

by thankyouturtle



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, Rotkäppchen | Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouturtle/pseuds/thankyouturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wolf's people have been waiting for the rains to come ever since she was born, and Wolf is determined to do something about it. But bringing Winter to her village may mean making a huge sacrifice - and going face to face with the woodsman with the axe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter of Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reskel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reskel/gifts).



Ever since Wolf had been very young, she’d known that all the adults in her village were worried. It was in the way they talked when they thought that there weren’t any children listening, their voices hushed, their movements jagged. It was in their pinched mouths, the way their lips twisted when their eyes slowly lifted to the grey skies, as thought they were asking for something.

It was a long time before Wolf understood what made the village adults so anxious. Up until then, she’d had a childhood just as carefree as it ought to be. With all the other children, she’d learned to fish, first making a net to catch enough fish for a family, then learning to dive with a small knife to catch just enough to feed herself. And then she’d learned to use a spear to hunt, tracking animals, stalking them until she’d learned to be quiet enough to kill them at close range. Most days she’d help her parents tend to the crops by carrying water from the water-hole. And she was as good as any other child her age at weaving, and she loved to hear the stories that the elders told as they sat in a circle, their experienced fingers moving faster than any of the children’s despite the stiffness in their bones. And it was while weaving and listening one evening that Wolf started to understand the fear in the adults’ faces.

Of all the elders, Bear was the one who had lived the longest – that was what everyone said, anyway. In her youth, she’d been the fastest runner, and the best hunter, and all the young men had wooed her. But now she was old, and she didn’t run or hunt – but she had all the best stories to tell. Sometimes she’d speak of the time that Wolf’s parents were children – or she’d talk about the days she remembered from her own childhood – but mostly she’d tell stories that were older than her, that were as old as Wolf’s ancestors buried on the northern mountain, or even older than that. And one evening, the evening that Wolf’s childhood ended, she told a story that Wolf had never heard before.

The Four Women of the South

 _There were once four women who lived together in the land of the South. They were not blood family, but they treated each other just as if they were, and always had been. There was Grandmother, who had been the last member of her own village left alive after a terrible sickness. There was Mother, whose baby had been born already dead, and who had been too struck with grief to live among her own people any longer. Sister had been married, once, but her husband’s family had been cruel and she had run away. As for Daughter, no one ever knew her story, but for a girl so young to be alone, there must have been a great tragedy._

 _Each of the women had her place in the house. Sister hunted, finding fresh fish some times, and meat for drying others. Mother tended to the crops, and cooked whatever she and Sister brought home. Grandmother tended to the house, and made and mended the others’ clothes. Daughter – well, perhaps it was because she was so young, and the others without their families, but she seldom did any work. But she was always singing, and dancing, and she kept the others happy, so perhaps her job was as important as the food they ate and the beds they lay in. So the four women looked after each other, as best they could, and they didn’t feel alone in the world._

 _One night, as they were sitting down to their evening meal, they suddenly noticed the sky growing very dark. There’d been no signs of an approaching storm, but the rain started to fall and thunder to crash, and suddenly there was a man, sitting amongst them. He was old – much, much older than Grandmother, who was the eldest of the women, and he looked tired, tired enough to sleep forever. He asked them if he could have a little of their food, and they told him he could. He sat silently for a while, eating, and with all four women pressing food on him he had soon had his full. Then Grandmother asked him how he had come to be there, and he said, “My name is Winter, and it is my job to travel the lands, bringing the cold and wet weather. No one is ever glad to see me, for many people die as I pass them by. I start each year in the north, and travel to the south – further, and further, until I find myself back in the north, and my journey starts again. But I am old, and weary. I’m searching for someone to take my place, and take my journey for me.”_

 _The four women looked at each other. Each of them was thinking, that is an important job, and an important journey. But it sounds hard – so hard! - to be always in winter, and always travelling. Do I really want to take that journey? And Grandmother thought, I am old, but I am not so old that I can’t take a journey. I would like to see new lands. And she thought of all the death she had seen in her life, and that she would not be harmed by seeing any more. She went inside their hut and brought out four cloaks she had been working on. The bright yellow cloak she gave to Mother, and the orange to Sister, and the red to Daughter. And she said, “This cloak will last you a long time, so you won’t have to worry about clothing yourselves without me.” And she wrapped herself in the fourth cloth, which was as white as her hair, and she told the man she would take his place. And so she became Winter-Grandmother, who brings the rain and the cold, and she left the other women, promising that she would still see them once a year, at the start of every Winter._

 _Time passed, and the three women learned to get along without Grandmother. Then, one morning, as they were just getting ready for the day’s work, they found that a strong wind was blowing, too strong for them to stay outside. They retreated back into their hut, and there they found an old man, perhaps as old as Old Man Winter. And he smiled at them, and said, “My name is Autumn. Since I was a boy, I have been travelling the lands, bringing winds, changing the colors of the leaves. But I am old, and weary, and I am looking for someone to take my place.” And Sister remembered how Grandmother had agreed to take Old Man Winter’s place, and how it had been Autumn when she had first fallen in love with her husband, both of them collecting fallen leaves to start fires. And she went inside their hut, and brought out three baskets, which she had made on a hunting trip. And she said, “The meat you keep in these baskets will last a long time, so you won’t have to worry about hunting, without me.” And she wrapped herself in the orange cloak that Winter-Grandmother had given her, and she became Autumn-Sister, and she promised the other women that she would still see them once a year, at the start of every Autumn._

 _Time passed, and Mother and Daughter learned to get along without Sister. Then, one afternoon, as they sat down to rest, they found that the sun was bright in the blue sky – so bright that they could not open their eyes. And then as they looked around they saw there was a woman standing among them, an old woman who looked so frail that she might fall over. Mother went to her immediately, telling Daughter to bring food and water. But the old woman waved them off; she was passed needing nourishment, she said. What she needed was someone who could take her place, journeying the lands to bring people long, hot days, and bright sunshine. And Mother thought of Winter-Grandmother, and Autumn-Sister; and then she thought of her son, and how he might have loved swimming in cool blue water on sunny days, as she had herself as a child. And she went into the hut and brought out something wrapped in an undyed cloth. “It’s grain,” she told Daughter. “It should keep you fed for a long time.” And she spoke to the old woman, who nodded; and Mother became Summer-Mother, and she left too, wearing her yellow cloak._

 _Now Daughter was all alone, but she did not seem lonely. She still sang, and laughed, and danced, and she had food and clothes; and the days passed quickly. But one day, not long after Winter-Grandmother had made her annual visit through the land, Daughter found herself looking at an old man who was standing in a lush bed of grass that hadn’t been there before. She knew, without him saying anything, that he was Old Man Spring, who brought the new plants and baby animals, and that he’d come to her to ask her to take his place. And she put on the red cloak Grandmother had left for her, and smiled her brightest smile, and took the man’s hand, and became Spring-Daughter._

When Bear had finished the story, it was Hawk’s turn to tell a tale, and he soon had his audience laughing with a story of how he, as a boy, had stirred a hornet’s nest; but Wolf was quiet, thinking. And when Wolf went to bed that night, it took her a long time to fall asleep.

The next day when her parents sent her to collect water, Wolf skipped away to find Bear instead. The old woman was sitting on her favorite mat, eyes closed; and Wolf was quiet, as quiet as she ever was hunting deer; but Bear’s eyes opened wide as Wolf grew closer. “Sneaking up on an old woman, Wolfcub?” She wasn’t scolding, though – her voice was friendly, and she said, “You have a question for me, I see. Come sit with me, and ask it.”

So Wolf sat at Bear's feet and said, “What happened, Bear? What happened to Winter-Grandmother – and the others? Aren’t they supposed to visit us, once a year?”

Bear looked pleased. “Not a Wolfcub any longer! And you were listening well last night, and thinking hard, when not many your age would be.” Bear sucked on her front teeth for a moment, thinking, then began, “When I was a girl, for three months a year the sun would break through that grey sky, and it would be so hot that during the day there was not much to do, but sit and think and talk and drink. In the evenings we’d fish, or hunt; and the crops would grow so high a tall man could not see over them. Then the clouds would come back, and the game would grow scarce, and it was time to harvest the crops before the plants died. Then, for three months, it would be so cold no one would leave their huts, and we’d eat the dried meat we’d kept, and it would rain – big, wet drops of water, falling from the sky. Sometimes, the cold would last too long, and we’d run out of food. But then, finally, it would get warmer again, and tiny green shoots would spring out of the ground, and when we went outside the water-hole would be deep, and there’d be baby animals, too young to hunt, just learning to walk.”

“The Four Women,” Wolf added.

“Yes. But almost 13 years ago, we started to prepare for Winter-Grandmother like we always did - only she never came. Autumn-Sister had been and gone, but it never got so cold we had to stay inside. At first we thought that it was just a particularly mild Winter – but then, the clouds – that grey sky – never parted to let the sun through. The animals never disappeared. Nothing that was meant to happen, happened. Did you know that the stars you were born under were the stars that tell us that Winter-Grandmother is approaching?” Wolf shook her head. “Well, there it is. The rain never came, and the water-hole will run dry, some day, and then the fish will be gone, and all the game, and we will have no food, nor drink – unless, that is, Winter-Grandmother returns.”

Wolf thanked Bear, and went to the water-hole, deep in thought. She thought she’d heard about the Four Women before, in her parents’ murmurings while she was meant to be sleeping. And Wolf thought about how her mother had once said, “This autumn is going to last forever,” with a sob in her throat. And she thought about how every time she went hunting it took longer and longer to find any animals; and how the banks of the water-hole seemed steeper now than they had when she was younger, because the water was so much lower. Someone, she thought, should leave to try and find Winter-Grandmother, to find out why she had never come. And then she thought, perhaps that someone should be me.

She left without telling anyone she was going. What if she failed? It was better that the did not know. But she did take a bundle with as much food as she dared, and the biggest gourd of water she could find; and she took her fishing-knife, tucked into her belt, and her hunting-spear, too. She remembered that Bear had called them the Four Women of the South, and so that was the direction that she walked. And she walked, and she walked, and she walked.

At first Wolf avoided the other villages she saw. Sometimes her own people visited those other villages, and she didn’t want them asking her what she was doing, or sending her home again. But gradually the landscape changed, and the villages changed too. Unlike the huts at home, built of earth, these were built of rocks; and the people who lived in these villages were small, and fair-skinned. But they were friendly, too, and when she asked them they told her – they had been waiting a long time for Winter-Grandmother too.

Then the villages changed again, with big, square huts made of wood, and it was here that Wolf noticed that the air was chilled. Could she be getting closer? The people here were pale, too, as pale as fish-bone, and dressed in greys and blacks and browns. When Wolf told them why she was journeying, they brought her furs to wear, and told her to keep going. “There’s a forest, a month south of here,” one man told her. “It’s been winter there for thirteen years, and for thirteen years we’ve never seen spring. If Winter-Grandmother is anywhere, it’s there.” Wolf thanked them, and went on her way. She was soon thankful for the furs she had been given, as the further south she went, the colder she became.

Finally she reached the forest. It was nothing like Wolf had ever seen – there were so many trees, so tall, so close together! She wondered how she was ever going to find her way inside it, but soon she found a path, and not knowing where else to go, she followed it. But night fell quickly, inside the forest, and soon it was impossible to go on. Not wanting to sleep on the cold ground, she found a tree with branches low enough to grab a hold of, and she climbed it, as high as she dared, and wrapped herself in her furs, and fell asleep.

In the morning she was awoken by the alarm call of a bird. She did not recognize the cry, but that screech was so clearly a warning that Wolf stayed absolutely still on her branch. The tip of her nose was numb, and her legs were still asleep, but she kept quiet, not knowing who, or what, had frightened that bird so much. Then she heard heavy panting – but from a human, not an animal. A man appeared on the edge of the path, coming towards her – but he did not look up, and so he could not see her.

From the tree, Wolf could see the man’s featured very well. He was tall, and strong, and carried an axe; and he looked angry – so angry, that Wolf almost felt a little afraid. She thought that he looked angry enough to hit someone, and she wasn’t sure that she’d be fast enough to dodge the blow, or that her spear was sharp enough to stab him before he could try. And so she waited until he had gone, and she could no longer hear his crashing footsteps, before she moved again. She started to massage her legs, trying to make them willing to carry her again, and as she did so a girl came skipping along that same path, coming from the opposite direction to the man. Unlike the other people Wolf had met in the south she did not wear drab colors or furs like they did. She was wearing a bright red cloak, and in her hands was a basket, and the instant Wolf saw her she knew that this must be Spring-Daughter. Wolf hurriedly slithered out of the tree, and stood before her, blocking the path.

“Who are you?” Spring-Daughter asked, looking surprised.

“My name is Wolf,” Wolf said. “I’m from the north, and we’re waiting for Winter-Grandmother.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time,” Spring-Daughter said. “My grandmother is sick; she’s been here these last thirteen years, not able to get out of her bed and go on her journey. And as long as she’s here, I’m stuck here too; and Summer, and Autumn. None of us can move on without her leading the way.”

She started down the path again, and Wolf, anxious not to lose her, quickly fell into step beside her. “Isn’t there some way to get her better?” she asked. “My village needs her badly. And others, too – everyone I met on my journey south, they were all waiting for Winter, and waiting for Winter to finish so that they can have Spring.”

“It’s not an illness,” explained Spring-Daughter. “It’s age – just age. She can’t die, so long as she’s Winter-Grandmother, but she doesn’t wish to live, either. Oh, look!” Her eyes had lit up, and Wolf followed her gaze to where some blue, many-petalled flowers were poking up beside the path. “Grandmother loves wild flowers,” she said softly. “And she so seldom gets to see any. I’ll take these to her.”

“Are you going to see her now?”

“Yes – I see her every day. Mother and Sister make her food, and I take it to her. She won’t have us living with her – it’s too dangerous.” Wolf thought of the man she had seen, so angry, so strong, and Spring-Daughter nodded when Wolf asked about him. “Yes; he wants to become Winter, in Grandmother’s place, but she won’t let him. And if she doesn’t – perhaps he will think that the strong winds of Autumn, or the scorching sun of Summer, will do in place of Winter’s cold.”

“But not Spring?” Wolf asked. Spring-Daughter shrugged.

“What power does Spring have to offer him?” Wolf didn’t know how to answer that, so she stayed silent; and before long she and Spring-Daughter had come to the end of the path, to a hut with thick wooden walls. Spring-Daughter paused for a moment. “Perhaps you should go in before me,” she suggested. “It would do Grandmother good to see you.”

Wolf took the basket, and, at Spring-Daughter’s instruction, knocked her hand on the hut’s door. A reedy voice from within called, “Come in!” and she entered, not sure what to expect.

Winter-Grandmother was old, alright, with her wrinkled skin and sunken eyes, and she barely even lifted her head when she saw that it was a stranger, not Spring-Daughter, standing at the edge of her bed. “Come closer,” she ordered. “I can barely see you.” Obediently, Wolf went closer, and Winter-Grandmother stared at her very hard. “Why have you come?” the old woman asked. So Wolf explained about the rain, and the water-hole, and meeting Spring-Daughter in the forest; and then, because Winter-Grandmother demanded it, she repeated as best she could the story that Bear had told, that had set her off on her journey.

“That’s a good story,” said Winter-Grandmother. “But it’s not the true story. When I was younger, and I wanted power. I became Winter because I thought it would give me power, and I was right. And then I became proud – so proud! I thought I could be strong and powerful forever, and I never looked to find someone who could one day take the journey instead of me.” She fell silent, and Wolf wondered what the truth was, if it was not in Bear’s story. And she thought about the girl in the red cloak, and wondered what her truth was, too.

“What happens if you die, and there is no one to take your place?” she asked.

Winter-Grandmother scowled. “There is a Woodsman here who is strong enough to take my place, if that should happen. But not only is he ambitious, as I once was, he would use Winter’s might to do whatever he willed, not whatever was needed. He comes here every day, hoping that I will give him my place willingly; but one day he will lose patience, and then, I think, I will die by his blade.”

Wolf thought again of the man from the forest, and his sharp, heavy axe. If Winter-Grandmother was right, then he could not be far off losing his patience. And then she would die, and then the water-hole would run dry, completely; and Wolf's parents, and Bear and Hawk, and the whole of her village would die, too. And all the other villages she’d passed through; all those people would be at the mercy of a man who did not care that they had been waiting for winter for thirteen long years. Wolf clenched her fists, and she said, “I could take your place. I could walk your journey, every year. I’ve almost walked it once already.”

Winter-Grandmother smiled a smile that was all teeth and no heart. “You’ll only be able to see your parents once a year. You’ll be responsible for those that die, in the cold. And you’ll be old – older than you can even imagine, before you can stop.” Wolf swallowed, and nodded. It was not a pleasant path that lay before her. But the alternative – that was worse, she knew. “Then pick up my cloak, from its place on the floor. Now, child.”

It took Wolf a moment to spy the cloak, neatly folded and lying in the far corner of the room. Wolf it up, noting reverently that it was as white as Winter-Grandmother's hair, and took it to the elder woman. “Don’t give it to me,” Winter-Grandmother said. “Put it on.”

Wolf pulled the cloak over her shoulders, and clumsily buttoned it at her neck. For a moment, nothing happened. And then she felt it. Voices, in her head, of all the Winters that had come before Grandmother. And knowledge, how to change the weather, how to keep her influence over it for months at a time. And power – so much power. Power enough to kill anyone who thought they could battle Winter and win. Wolf couldn’t do much more than gasp for air, and she thought she felt tears trickling down her cheeks. That was part of the story that Bear had got wrong, Wolf thought. Grandmother didn’t make this cloak – it had always been Winter’s cloak. It was as old as forever.

The frightening, dizzying new sensations took a long time to ebb. When Wolf finally felt like herself again, she looked at the bed, thinking she'd see Grandmother still watching her, proudly or sullenly or sternly – but the bed was empty, and Grandmother was gone. Stunned, Wolf sat down, heavily, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

Then she heard a knock on the door, and a voice called, “Are you there, old woman?” It was a man’s voice, big and booming, and Wolf knew it must be the Woodsman. What would he do, finding her alone, and in Winter’s cloak? Wolf picked up her spear, which she must have dropped while entranced by the cloak, and slid into Grandmother's bed, pulling the covers up around her as far as they would go. And the Woodsman entered the hut.

His eyes caught sight of the figure wearing Winter’s cloak straight away, and he scowled. “You know you are not strong enough to stop me, old woman,” he said. “Why are you wearing your cloak? Your power has long run dry. Or have you taken out your cloak, to give it to me?” He did not seem to notice that it was Wolf in the bed, not Grandmother at all. He stepped closer, peering at her. “You look different today, old woman.” His voice was smug. “Look how dark your skin is; have you been out too long in the sun?” He thought that this was very funny, because he burst out laughing, and took a step closer. “You look taller, too. Find the strength to sit up today, did you?” And again he came closer. “And your face-” The Woodsman stopped, abruptly. Finally, he seemed to see not just Winter’s cloak, but Wolf inside it. Emotions played across his face, surprise, and then once more anger. “Who are you, girl?” he demanded. “What have you done?” He grasped the axe in his belt and brought it out; and Wolf, her heart pounding, threw back her covers and grasped her spear tightly. He came charging at her immediately, bearing the axe down on her with his full strength – but she dodged the blow and parried with her spear, making him jump back.

He was more cautious now, circling. He’d come here thinking he could easily kill an old lady, even one who had spent hundreds of years as Winter – but Wolf was young, and she was a hunter. She was not going to be killed, not by this southern man who could think only of himself, not of the hundreds, the thousands of people who were waiting for Winter, and waiting for Spring. His eyes darted left and right, looking for an opening – and then the Woodsman charged again. As Wolf thrust with her spear he grabbed it, pulling her closer, and smiled at her, horribly. He thought that without her spear she was at his mercy, and he brought his axe down one more time. But the Woodsman didn’t know about Wolf’s knife, not until she plunged it into his belly and brought it up towards his chest, gutting him like a fish.

And then he was dead.

His blood didn’t stain Winter’s cloak, but it seeped onto Wolf’s skin, and she retched. She'd killed animals before, but never a human. And he was only the first, she knew. As Winter, Wolf would have to kill many more people. But that was the choice she had made, and that was the path she would walk. She pried her spear loose from the dead man's fingers, and used it to steady herself as she left Grandmother's hut. Outside, she was greeted by the sight of Spring-Daughter, a gentle smile on her face. “I hoped you’d do it,” Spring-Daughter said quietly. “I thought, as soon as I met you, that you’d make a good Winter. Here,” and she gave Wolf a gourd of water. Wolf took it, gratefully, and rinsed the bad taste from mouth and the blood from her arms and legs. Then, curious, she watched Spring-Daughter. Spring-Daughter had put the blue flowers on the ground, by the entrance to Grandmother’s hut, and now she started to sing. Wolf did not understand the words, or know the tune, but she felt her spirits uplifted by it – and there was no longer a small bunch of flowers, but hundreds of them, thousands, growing through the wooden walls of the hut, breaking it down until nothing remained but a square garden of blue flowers. Spring-Daughter nodded, pleased with her work, and said, “They call them hurtsickle, in some lands. These ones won’t fade for a very long time, I think.”

“Grandmother and the Woodsman were wrong, weren’t they?” Wolf asked suddenly. “They both thought that Winter had the most power, more than Summer or Autumn or Spring. But it’s you, isn’t it? Winter – I – can only bring death. You can bring life. You're far more powerful than we other three.”

“No,” Spring-Daughter interrupted. “I’m weak. Wherever I go, people are happy, and that makes me happy, too; becoming Spring was an easy choice to make. But you, you became Winter knowing exactly what it meant, and doing it anyway. You’re strong, Wolf-Winter.”

There was a quiver in her voice as she spoke, and Wolf found herself asking, “What happened? What made you decide to take Spring’s journey?” But Spring-Daughter said nothing, only holding out her hand. Wolf grasped it; and then Spring-Daughter was gone, and Wolf knew she would probably never see her again, and she’d never learn her story.

Wolf’s journey back home was slow. She had to visit every village, every plain, on her way; and she had to do all kinds of things she had never done before. Some lands needed rain like her own village, but others were meant to have snow, hard cold water that drifted from clouds and settled on the ground, or came in dizzying storms that blinded everyone. In some the skies did not matter, but she had to make cold, cold so powerful that the ground froze over. And despite the thirteen-year wait, no one was happy to see her.

But finally Wolf reached her own people again. They didn’t huddle inside, protecting themselves from the rain and the cold, but ran outside, children staring at the sky with wide eyes, opening their mouths to taste the water on their lips and tongues, and the adults laughing and crying. Wolf’s parents cried hardest of all when she slipped off her cloak and told them that she would have to leave again the next day, taking Winter to more people, and to other lands.

“But,” she told them, “I’ll be back next year – and the year after – and for as many years as I can keep going.” And one day, she thought, she’d find the journey too difficult, and she’d pass it on to someone else. And maybe, if she didn’t leave it too late, she could come back here and die peaceably, among her own people. She'd spend the evening weeding, and tell them about a young girl who set out with a knife and a spear, and it would be the truth, or mostly the truth.

She stayed with her people long into the night, but left before dawn. The village was still celebrating as she crept away, and the sound of singing and drums followed her for many miles. Wolf knew that that night would have to be a memory she carried with her, that as the rain continued, and the nights grew longer, and the dried meat and stored vegetables ran out, they’d be cursing her instead. But then, one day, a girl in a red cloak would dance into town, and they’d be smiling again... and that thought made Wolf smile, too. She could never be unhappy with her choice, not when Spring would always be just months away.


End file.
